shades of white
by faithsette
Summary: "She's irritated they got stuck in this storm, irritated that this is the only room available and she has to share it with Castle—who's only slightly less annoying than she'd anticipated, but give it time and she's sure she'll be proved wrong—and irritated that the only thing to do here involves the elderly and a surprising array of badly played instruments." Bed sharing fill.


Set somewhere in season one.

* * *

She's always loved snow. She's always thought that snow was on her side.

Not today. No, today snow is the enemy. Today snow is the reason she's slouched in a poorly cushioned chair in the corner of a slightly questionable hotel room, listening to Castle rattle off story after story about the snow and how perfect it is.

They were going upstate to interview someone who might have been able to give them some insight into their current suspect. It should've been routine. Go there, talk to them, get what they need, and then return back to the precinct and continue working on the case. Simple. What no one seemed to have taken into account, however, was the snow.

Weathermen get paid how much? She'd have thought they'd be able to predict storms with some level of accuracy or at least _hint_ at the possibility of a storm, but neither of these things have proven to be true. No, the news has said absolutely nothing about more snow, nothing about a giant storm. There hasn't even been a mention about so much as a flurry.

So color her surprised when they have to stop halfway to their destination because the storm is so bad that they can barely see out the windshield.

They had to drive painfully slow to the nearest exit and then scramble to find a hotel. Not so lucky for them, it seems that a handful of others had to do the same, because the only room available on such short notice was a single bed.

And so here she is, eyes falling shut, fingers rubbing at her temples because he's _still talking_.

"—just something so special about the snow, don't you—"

"Castle," she groans, effectively stopping his rambling. "Please."

He turns, a grin on his face because _of course_ he's enjoying this. "Aw, come on, Beckett. This isn't so bad."

"How is getting stranded in upstate New York in a roadside hotel, during a snowstorm no less, _not bad?_ "

"Because unlike someone here, I enjoy the serenity of a snowstorm."

She huffs. "I enjoy the peacefulness of snow, too," she argues, sitting up a little straighter. "I don't, however, enjoy being stuck somewhere."

"We're not really _stuck_ ," he says, moving away from the window to sit on the edge of the bed. "We can go downstairs, and we can go outside if we want to." His face lights up. "Oh! Do you wanna go make snow angels? Whaddya say, Beckett?"

A laugh escapes her throat. "And soak through the only clothes I have? No thank you."

He waves an arm. "No fun," he sighs. "What about a snowman? That doesn't involve lying in the snow so _really_ , wet clothes is only a minimal concern."

"I'm not going outside right now, Castle."

"So, what are we supposed to do?" he asks, bouncing on the mattress. She rolls her eyes; he honestly looks like an exasperated, bored child. "You don't expect us to just stay cooped up in this room until we can leave, do you?"

She grins. "Wow, Castle, and here I thought you'd be jumping at the opportunity to have me alone in a room," she teases, immediately regretting it when his eyes sparkle with something a bit darker than mischief.

"Oh, my dear detective, you have no idea," he says, waggling his eyebrows. "If that's how you'd like to spend our time, I'm more than happy to oblige."

She shakes her head, her bottom lipped tugged between her teeth. "In your dreams."

"Every night," he affirms, shooting her a knowing smirk. He pauses for a beat. "Seriously, Beckett, what are we going to do?"

She sighs, opens her mouth to reply but is cut off by the rumbling of her stomach.

"Food it is," Castle declares, already standing from the bed. "I'm pretty sure there's a dining hall downstairs. I'm not sure how good it'll be, or if it's still serving, but we can try."

"I'm not that hungry."

His eyes narrow at her. "Your stomach is contradicting that statement."

"I'm alright, Castle," she tries again. She's really not that hungry and she also really doesn't want to move. This chair isn't exactly comfortable but she's gotten used to it.

"What have you had to eat today? That bear claw this morning?" he asks, moving forward when she gives a noncommittal shrug. He gestures for her to follow him to the door. "Come on, Beckett. Maybe you'll be less cranky after you eat."

She glares. "I am not _cranky_. I'm—"

"Grumpy?" he supplies, amusement written all over his face.

She pushes herself from the chair and stands, rolling her eyes as she stalks towards him. He goes for the door, head turned over his shoulder as he grabs at the doorknob.

"Happy? Sleepy?" He pulls the door open, eyes still locked on her and not in front of him. "Sneezy? Bashful?"

"Name one more dwarf, Castle," she mutters, trailing behind him into the hallway. "Go ahead."

He pauses, a solemn expression on his face until it breaks. "You got it, Doc."

* * *

The dining hall is a bust, to put it lightly.

She's not entirely sure why part of her expected anything more, given where they are. It's not a dump, but it's a far cry from a high end hotel. It falls somewhere in the middle probably, both in ratings and location, but this was the only place within a few miles that they could make it to without the cruiser getting stuck in the snow that began to pile up. She doesn't even know what town they're in, couldn't see the name on the exit because of the flurries obscuring her vision; all she does know is that it's a small down, not much around.

Except this hotel-motel, apparently.

"If I ever show any interest in mystery meat again, hit me," Castle groans once they're back into the room, his face contorting into a look of disgust, nose scrunched.

She snorts. "I don't know why that offered any appeal to begin with."

"I usually like a little mystery," he argues, his eyes falling shut. "Now I know to cross off _food_ on the list of things that applies to."

Her arms stretch behind her back as she shakes her head. He's sprawled out on the bed—they still haven't talked about how that situation is going to work out, but she decides to save it for when the time comes—with his hands covering his stomach. As hilarious as his run in with the meat downstairs is, she really hopes he isn't going to be sick. That's the last thing either of them need right now.

"You okay, Castle?" she asks finally, noticing that he hasn't moved in a while. If he croaks on this trip because of mystery meat, she'll never hear the end of it.

He moans. "Swell."

Rolling her eyes, she strolls over to the bag she earlier tossed onto the chair. Her fingers fumble around, filtering through the contents until she finds what she's looking for.

"Here," she says, extending her hand towards him once he sits up. "Eat this. At least it'll mask the taste."

He eyes the granola bar she's offering him gratefully before he grabs it. "Thanks." He takes off the wrapper and breaks it in half, holding part out for her. "Here."

She shakes her head. "I didn't eat the mystery meat," she reminds, nodding back towards him.

"Yeah, you ate nothing," he counters.

One of her brows quirks up. "I do think that was a wise decision on my part."

"It was. But you still have to eat something." The granola bar waves around in his hand. "Humor me?"

She sighs but takes it from him, taking an exaggerated bite as she keeps his gaze. "Pleased?"

He grins. "Very." A beat. "Do you think we could order pizza?"

* * *

No pizza place will deliver in the storm and Castle mopes, though she's pretty sure he doesn't even really want the pizza.

"I think there's some kind of event going on in a half hour," he says suddenly and she turns to him, watches as he sits against the headboard with a small brochure packet open in front of him.

She hums. "An event?"

"'Join the Piedmont family for an exciting night of activities in the common room at 8pm'," he reads, reciting the offer written in bold face lettering on the inner fold of the booklet. "So, Beckett, care to join in for an _exciting_ night of activities?"

She ignores the obvious innuendo weaved within his words and lets out a laugh. "I don't know, Castle, think you could keep up?" She's playing with fire, she knows, but she's just so _bored_.

Mocking Castle's physical stamina keeps her young. And serves as a nice source of entertainment.

His eyes sparkle, a grin on his face as he looks up at her. It almost gives her goosebumps. Almost. "If you don't think I can keep up, I'd be happy to prove otherwise."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not about to stroke your ego, Castle."

"I'd much rather you stroke my—"

" _Castle_ ," she hisses.

He just shrugs, looking annoyingly pleased with himself. "Your loss."

She snorts. "Doubt it," she throws back, raising her brows at him.

"Seriously, Beckett, let's go to this thing," he says after a minute of silence, gracefully sidestepping any more of the teasing. She's oddly grateful. "It's at 8, it's 7:30 now, and we can't possibly just sit here and do nothing all night."

Her head leans back, knocking against the not-so-soft cushioning of the chair, and she takes a breath, weighs her options. She doesn't want to go downstairs and make nice with the hotel staff that would only lead them to taking part in ridiculous games. But she also doesn't want to sit here doing nothing for a few more hours until it's acceptable to go to bed. In fact, she's not sure she actually can sit here. Being stuck alone in this room with Castle is an issue for more than one reason, and she'd rather not subject herself to any of them.

"Fine," she agrees on a sigh, pulling herself off of the seat. "But if they start playing the accordion, I'm out."

Castle laughs, low and rich, and she has to hide a grin. "I think you've been watching too many movies, Beckett." She arches a brow. "Old people don't _actually_ partake in the whole group accordion thing."

* * *

"Well, I was right," he starts, closing the door behind him. "There wasn't an accordion."

She huffs a laugh. "Yeah, there were _three_."

He shudders. "I didn't even know the accordion could sound that bad."

"That was your first mistake. Going in with any expectations."

"Technically, I went in under the assumption that there wouldn't even _be_ any accordions."

Beckett nods. "Okay, _that_ was your first mistake," she corrects.

Castle groans, flopping down onto the bed, and she strides across the room, comes to a stop by the window. She pushes the blinds aside and watches the snow; it's not letting up, she's pretty sure it's actually coming down harder than it was before, and it's already covering the trees. The branches are all blanketed in white, along with the ground and all of the surrounding cars.

If she wasn't still irritated, she'd appreciate the beauty a little more.

But she is irritated.

She's irritated that they got stuck in this storm, irritated that this is the only room available and she has to share it with Castle—who's only slightly less annoying than she'd anticipated, but give it time and she's sure she'll be proved wrong—and she's irritated that the only thing to do here involves the elderly and a surprising array of badly played instruments.

"Beckett."

She turns. "What, Castle?"

"Wanna play a game?"

Her eyes narrow. That's too vague a question. "Does it involve stripping?"

He shakes his head, though sadly. "No."

"Bodily injury?"

"Nope."

"Inappropriate touching?"

His mouth turns into a grin. "No, but if you want—"

"No," she deadpans. She considers him. "What kind of game?"

The look of pure glee on his face is ridiculous, especially since she hasn't _agreed_ to anything, but it's oddly adorable.

"Two truths and a lie," he announces happily. "What you do is you tell two—"

"I think I got it," she cuts him off. "Let me guess. Two truths and a lie?"

He purses his lips. "Yes," he concedes. "But then you have to guess which one is the lie."

Looking at him, taking in the hopefulness in his eyes, she sighs. It's better than standing around, staring out the window and grumbling, internally willing the snow to stop. At least this is something to do.

She deflates, taking small steps over to the bed. "Alright," she agrees, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He moves too, sitting up straighter against the headboard while she shifts, tugging her legs beneath her to sit indian style.

"Excellent," he beams, rubbing his hands together. "Time to peel the Beckett onion."

"There will be no peeling," she says, twisting to get comfortable.

He just grins. "We'll see, detective. We'll see." She rolls her eyes. "You wanna go first or should I give you time to think of something juicy?"

"I think I'm good," she quips, thinking of some good truths and lies she can use. She'll start off easy, lure him into a false sense of security, make him think he knows her, and then she'll rip the rug out from under him. "I never really believed in Santa Claus, I have a tattoo, and my first concert was Celine Dion."

She watches his breath hitch at the mention of a tattoo, but he recovers. "I want to say that Santa Claus is a lie, because then I'd have to believe you had a _sad_ childhood," he starts, giving her a look, "but Celine Dion is definitely the lie. Come on Beckett, you can do better."

She nods, her face taking on an appraising facade. "Okay, Castle, your turn."

"No, no, not so fast," he says, holding up a hand. "You can't just say that and then deflect. What's the story with Santa? What kind of child doesn't believe in Santa?"

Beckett shrugs. "I was three and we didn't have a chimney."

A reply is on the tip of his tongue but it dies out, replaced by another question. "So, where's your tattoo?" he asks, waggling an eyebrow with a grin.

"Somewhere you'll never see."

His mouth falls open, jaw almost on the floor, and she bites her lip. "Beckett—I'm— _where?_ "

She shakes her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Your turn, Castle."

"Fine," he relents. "But I will find out." There's a pause where he puts his fingers at his chin, exaggerating his thought process. "Okay. I took a ballet class as a child, that police horse I borrowed was not the first, and I've concocted my very own Masterchef worthy breakfast meal."

She hums. "While the validity of your statement is questionable, I do believe that _you_ believe you've created your own masterpiece in the form of breakfast food," she decides. "The ballet class is a lie."

He grins, shaking his head. "Nope," he says, then continues at her look of surprise. "Mother put me into a ballet class when I was five. It was short lived, but it happened."

"I'm more surprised by the fact that the police horse was the first one you... _borrowed_."

"Scoff all you want, detective, but it's the truth. And now I do believe the score is 1-0."

Her back arches as she stretches. "Don't get too comfortable there, Castle," she warns, a spark in her eye that she knows he sees. "It's my turn." She pauses for effect, but she already knows what she's going to use. "I was cast as a pregnant stripper in a play, I drink Captain Montgomery and the boys under the table every time we go out to the bar, I've never done the walk of shame."

His eyes widen, taking in everything that she's just said, and his mouth opens. "I don't even know where to begin," he manages, and she grins at his apparent loss for words. She can see the turmoil play out on his face as he tries to figure out what to tackle first.

"Well?"

"I have little trouble believing you can drink the boys under the table, so that's true," he decides carefully. She gives him a small nod. "I... am fairly certain you've done the walk of shame." She narrows her eyes, raising a brow in warning. "That's not a bad thing!" he adds hastily. "I'm not judging. I just find it hard to believe that you haven't. I mean—what I _mean_ is—" he stumbles with a sigh. "I'm making it worse."

She snorts. "Yeah, a little."

"The pregnant stripper is a lie," he says finally, choosing to ignore the other one.

A grin creeps onto her face. "Nope."

His eyes shoot open even wider. "You played a pregnant stripper."

She looks away, biting her tongue. "Stripper pregnant with the next messiah," she adds quietly, knowing he'll take this and run with it. "I was doing a favor for the director."

"Oh my god," he exclaims, far too excited. "Did you dance on a pole? Wear one of those skimpy outfits? Are there videos? Beckett, are there—"

"I was eighteen," she throws in, laughing as she watches his face fall.

He slumps. "Still, I'd want to see you in the play." She gives him a look. "Not like that, ew. But the image is too hilarious to pass up."

She shakes her head. "No videos, sorry."

He sighs, accepting this horrible fate. "Wait," he backpedals. "This means you've never done the walk of shame? How?"

"It's not a walk of shame if you're not ashamed," she grins, her tongue peeking out from behind her teeth.

He gapes. "That's such a technicality!" She just continues to smirk. "Oh, it's on, Beckett."

* * *

It's dark when the game finally slows to a stop. After effectively shocking Castle with her truths—and lies—she feels successful. She's learned so, so much about him in the past hour, things she probably knew deep down but hearing them confirmed only added to her delight. She's not the least bit surprised to learn that he's had his daughter tie him to a chair for research to see if he could get out, only to have her come home hours later and have to untie him because he couldn't free himself. She barked a laugh at that, but hid it immediately when he grinned at her response.

She's let out a few things too; nothing too deep, of course, but just little tidbits she figured he'd enjoy. Toying with him was a joyous time, she'll admit that. The look on his face when she revealed, much to his dismay, that she hasn't actually been caught with one of her professors in the university stadium is enough to last her for the year probably.

Groaning, she rolls off the bed to stretch her limbs. Her legs have been squished under her body for the duration of the game and they're screaming now, protesting the inconvenience.

"It's still going," she sighs, pulling back the blinds only to be met with an onslaught of snow. She was hoping it'd have at least settled some in the meantime.

The lack of lighting outside makes it hard to see, makes her work a bit harder and squint to make out details, but she can see the branches now dipping in the middle with the weight of the snow.

Castle makes a noise of agreement. "I wonder if it'll stop by morning."

"It better," she mumbles, more to herself than Castle. She has no intentions of being stuck in this hotel for longer than a night. The precinct is waiting, there's still an open case to solve, and there's no way to get to their interviewee. When she'd called the boys earlier to let them know they're stuck they assured her that they'd figure something out in the meantime, but she still hates it.

She doesn't like being thrown off track like this.

She hears Castle's voice saying something like _I'll be back_ but she doesn't pay much attention, doesn't take her eyes off the view of the falling snow in front of her. A sigh escapes her throat as she rakes a hand through her hair, shaking it out, the ends tickling her neck.

It could be worse, she thinks.

Being cooped up in here with Castle hasn't been the worst thing in the world. It's by no means preferable, but it hasn't been as bad as she thought it'd be. They even managed to enjoy two truths and a lie, and the horrific dining hall escapade. Though, she's sure she's the only one who enjoyed the latter. Castle not so much.

When she turns and is met with an empty room, her forehead creases. The door opens moments later and Castle strides in, a bag in hand and a grin on his face.

"What is that?"

He holds up the bag, letting it sway. "We can't sleep in these clothes, Beckett," he says easily, reaching in to grab the contents of the bag. "There's a gift shop near the lobby. Not much, but it's better than nothing."

She watches as he takes out a handful of clothes, handing her a few pieces of fabric before she even knows what's happening. They fall in her arms and she grabs them, lays them down on the bed so she can look. An over-sized, plain white t-shirt and—

"Really?" she says, holding up a pair of short shorts that say "Piedmont Hotel" across the ass.

He shrugs innocently. "That's the only thing they had! Unless you would've preferred a pair of dirt brown plaid pants that were so big they'd fall right off you."

She sighs. Yeah, these shorts seem to be the lesser of two evils. A pair of pants that she can't keep up would do nothing for her.

"Thanks, Castle," she says, giving him a tight smile. "I'll go change." She points to the bathroom and he nods.

He gets changed in the room quickly before she returns. The only thing he managed to find for himself was a pair of plaid pants, not much better than the ones he mentioned to Beckett, but at least he can make them work.

She walks out a few minutes later, tugging at the fabric of the shorts to pull them down as far as she can. They fall just past her ass, not even reaching mid thigh. The shirt falls longer than the shorts, making it look like she's not even wearing them at all, and she's acutely aware of his eyes roaming her bare legs.

"Eyes up here, Castle," she snaps, using her fingers to point to her face.

He splutters when he's caught. "Sorry," he murmurs.

She ignores him and stands near the bathroom door, shifting on her feet. She said they would deal with it later, and apparently later is now, because they need to figure out what to do about their sleeping arrangement.

"I'll sleep on the couch," he offers, as if reading her mind, and she's almost surprised by the genuine tone of his voice. "I know this wasn't what you had in mind, but I don't want this to be uncomfortable."

A hand runs down her face, stopping at her mouth. "No," she says before she's even thought it through. "No. That's barely a couch, you can't sleep on that."

"Beckett—"

She shakes her head. "We're both adults, Castle. I'm sure we can manage to share a bed."

He grins. "As long as you're sure..."

Is she sure? Absolutely not. But as undesirable as the situation is, she's not about to let him mess up his back trying to sleep on this poor excuse for a couch.

"No funny business," she says by way of response, giving him a pointed look. "I mean it."

He raises a hand. "Scouts honor."

She rolls her eyes but slowly makes her way over to the bed, pulling down the right side of the blankets before climbing in. He does the same on the left and she feels the bed dip towards his side as he slides next to her. There's an air of tension surrounding them, neither knowing what to say because this is weird and they've barely even touched before and now they're in bed together and it's not them.

Her hand reaches out to turn off the light and she shifts, rolling onto her side away from Castle. He wriggles beside her, tugging on the blanket, and she can feel him at her back.

"Castle, scoot over," she whispers.

She feels more movement. "Can't, I'll fall off the bed."

A long breath leaves her nose. This isn't his fault. The bed is unusually small, definitely not made for two partners who should not be this close.

"Beckett," she hears fifteen minutes later, just as she can finally feel the sleep coming on.

"What."

A pause. "Do you think pigeons have feelings?"

"What?"

"Do you think pigeons have feelings," he repeats, his voice just above a hushed whisper.

She groans. "Go to sleep, Castle."

"I'm not tired," he whines, turning his body, jostling her until he settles and she can feel his breath on her neck. "Let's talk."

"I'm sleeping."

He scoffs. "You're obviously not."

She takes a deep breath. "I'm _trying to_."

"So, what do you think?" She pulls the blanket higher, covering her shoulders, almost coming up to hide her entire face. "Hmm?"

"About what?" she hisses, still not dislodging herself from the blankets.

"About the pigeons. Do they have feelings? How do they feel about the food we toss at them on the beach?"

"I don't know, Castle, why don't you go outside and ask one."

"There are no pigeons out here," he sighs, actually sounding sad about this and she wants to hit him.

"What a shame," she deadpans, her voice a muffled mumble against the sheet.

A few minutes pass and she hasn't heard anything else from Castle. She grins to herself, letting out a sigh as she finally begins to drift off.

"Beckett," he whispers softly into the darkness of the room.

She growls. "Ask me again if pigeons have feelings, I dare you."

He's silent for a few seconds and she thinks he's finally got it. He's finally shutting up, going to sleep, and more importantly, letting _her_ get some rest.

"What about squirrels?"

* * *

 _Prompt: bed sharing "ask me again if pigeons have feelings, i dare you"_


End file.
